Illusion's Voice
by Silbrith
Summary: In 1599, a crisis leads sixteen-year-old Jack to reconnect with a few friends from his past. Story #8 in Six-Crossed Knot.
1. Shelter from the Storm

_Notes: This story is set in Elizabethan England and takes place after the conclusion of the novel Shadow of Night. Diana and Matthew departed eight years ago. I wrote a status update about the main characters for my blog, Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called: Backdrop to Illusion's Voice.  
_

* * *

"But, soft: behold! lo where it comes again!  
I'll cross it, though it blast me. - Stay, illusion!  
If thou hast any sound, or use a voice.  
Speak to me."

—_Hamlet_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Shelter from the Storm**

**London. October 31, 1599.**

"Halt! Who goes there?"

At the guard's shout, Leonard yanked Jack back into the shadows. "Quiet!" he hissed in Jack's ear.

Jack flattened himself against the crate, his heart pounding with excitement. Father H would have his head, if he didn't lose it in the Tower first. "Borrowing" one of the rowboats from the docks at Whitehall Palace to go on a pleasure ride wouldn't be easy to justify. The idea had sounded so much better when Leonard initially proposed it.

They weren't stealing anything, not really. No harm would be done. No one would even notice. At least, that's what Leonard claimed. But it's a lot easier to escape undetected when you're a _wearh_.

"I need to get back," Jack whispered. "They're expecting me."

"If you leave now, the only place you'll go is to the bottom of the river to swim with the fishes," Leonard insisted, his voice barely audible.

His comment wasn't necessary. Jack already knew stealing a royal boat would result in swift and most likely terminal punishment. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Leonard knew about Jack's plans for the evening. He was confident they could get the boat back in plenty of time. Wrong again.

Leonard had initially sneaked onto the dock. Jack prided himself on his stealth abilities, but he couldn't compare to Leonard. Once Leonard untied the ropes, Jack jumped in, and they acted as if they were courtiers. They were both dressed for the role, having worn fine wool doublets under their leather capes.

They rowed down the Thames for an hour before turning back. It reminded Jack of when he'd returned from Prague with the Roydons. That was the only journey he'd ever taken by sea. Thanks to Goody Alsop, he knew that the Roydons timewalked hundreds of years into the future, but he hadn't given up hope of seeing them again. They'd timewalked once. Why couldn't they do it again? Gallowglass loved the sea. Surely he'd return someday. Nobody mentioned he'd timewalked, but Jack hadn't seen him since the day the Roydons departed.

When he and Leonard returned to the dock, they waited till no one was around before tying the boat. In late October, dusk came early. But just as they started to slip away, a guard came out of nowhere and whistled for others to join him. Now they were stuck behind a stack of crates. Leonard could have easily escaped. Jack's life would be a lot simpler if he were a _wearh _too.

After his graduation from choir school last year, Jack had been confronted with the challenge of earning a living. Everyone warned him the playing companies didn't pay much, and they were right. He'd hoped to be able to supplement his funds with portrait commissions, but he soon discovered that the years of lessons with Nicholas Hilliard didn't count for much. Jobs were few and far between. He'd applied to work at Hilliard's shop, but so far there hadn't been any openings.

Leonard and Bryn had helped him secure an audition to the Lord Chamberlain's Men. Jack was accepted because of his musical ability, not because of his acting. That suited him. He played in mixed consorts and didn't have to memorize a lot of lines. For the actors, it was a grueling regimen. Every day a different play was performed. The musicians had it lucky. Much of the music was the same, leaving plenty of time for other amusements, and Leonard was a genius at those, especially the ones which didn't cost anything. They'd just finished a cycle of plays at the newly opened Globe Theater, and Leonard suggested the river excursion as a way to reward themselves.

Leonard nudged him. "Get ready. As soon as they turn away, run for your life and don't stop, no matter what. If they start after you, I'll take care of them."

Jack tensed his muscles and nodded.

Leonard held up a hand, his eyes scanning the dock, while Jack focused on the broad open lawn he'd have to cross before reaching the safety of the streets.

"Now!"

Jack ran faster than he'd ever run before, but even so by the time he got to a darkened alley off the main street, Leonard was lounging on the corner, waiting for him.

Leonard tousled his thatch of hair which refused to hang straight no matter what he tried. "You see, nothing to worry about! You know I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you." He gave Jack a friendly shove. "If you run, you won't be very late for that party. Better not tell them what we'd been up to."

"No fear about that!"

Master Raleigh had invited him to dinner at his house on the Strand. It would be a reunion of sorts of the people he'd initially met at the Roydons. George Chapman, Jack's former tutor, had recently returned from the Low Countries. Lord Northumberland was currently in town and staying at Russell House with Tom Harriot. Since his marriage to Dorothy Devereux, his lordship had moved into her estate at Syon, several miles upriver from London. He'd provided Tom with a house on the estate property where Jack was welcome to stay, and in between jobs Jack took him up on the offer.

Jack was still getting used to calling Tom by his first name. Once he left choir school, Tom insisted on it, claiming that anything else made him feel too old.

The Raleighs lived in Durham House along the Strand, not far from the house Lord Northumberland leased. Their mansion was a much grander residence. Jack had been there several times with Tom. Sir Walter liked to use him and Jack as sounding boards for the expeditions he was constantly planning. Eight years ago, Sir Walter had married Lady Elizabeth Throckmorton. Jack liked his wife. Even though she used to be a Gentlewoman to the Privy Chamber, Lady Bess didn't put on airs.

#

When Jack arrived at Durham House, he entered through the servants' entrance in the back. Bryn would have scolded him, reminding him he was an invited guest, but he knew his place. He'd been straddling two worlds ever since the Roydons took him in. His position in their household was that of a servant even though they'd graciously acted as if he were a member of their family. Lord Northumberland had agreed to act as a guardian but the arrangement wasn't official. He'd allowed Jack to live on his estate with Tom, but both of them were dependent on his lordship's patronage. Now that Lord Northumberland was married, Jack seldom saw him.

As he entered the back door, he was attacked by a small whirlwind.

"You've come to see me!" Wat wrapped himself around Jack's legs. "Did you bring Mop?"

"Not this time, lad," Jack said. Sir Walter's son was seven years old and doted upon by both parents.

"Jack's wanted upstairs," Lady Bess said, coming out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a linen dishcloth. Even though she was a lady, she enjoyed supervising the kitchen personally.

"You are most welcome, Jack," she added as Jack bowed to her. "Wat misses seeing both you and your dog. You mustn't go so long between visits."

"Thank you, my lady."

"Wat, leave him alone. He's expected upstairs."

"But I'll come back and play with you on the weekend," Jack murmured in a loud stage whisper. Turning to Lady Bess, he asked, "Would you like me to take anything for you?"

She frowned. "Tonight you're one of our guests. After I've seen to Wat's supper, I'll join you upstairs."

Lady Bess reminded him a little of Mistress Diana. She was about the mistress's age when Jack lived at the Hart and Crown. Both had red hair, and Lady Bess was equally passionate about what interested her. She could hold her own in any discussion and didn't hesitate to voice her opinions to Sir Walter about his various projects.

Jack took the backstairs up to the main floor. He could hear boisterous laughter from within the great hall as he approached. Lord Northumberland was a little deaf. His friends, in an effort to compensate, always spoke more loudly. Jack could easily distinguish the voices. Tom Harriot and George Chapman had already arrived.

"To Matthew and Diana!"

At Lord Northumberland's words, Jack stopped in his tracks. Did he have news? Were they coming back? Perhaps they'd already arrived! His heart racing, Jack crept forward as close as he dared without risking being seen. Talking to him about the Roydons appeared to be a forbidden subject. He'd long ago given up pestering Tom. If they knew he was outside, more than likely they'd quickly clam up once more.

The clinks of metal he heard indicated the men were drinking. That must have been a toast.

"Nine years ago to this day they appeared at the Old Lodge in Woodstock," Tom said. "It was the first time we met Diana."

"I remember it well!" That was Sir Walter's voice. "I couldn't believe Matthew was married."

"You claimed you'd never wed, as I recall," George said. "Matthew teased you about it. He was prescient."

Jack listened breathlessly. He knew Master Roydon had an estate in the country, but Jack had never visited it when he was living with them. The Roydons could be living there now. Were they avoiding him, thinking he'd demand something from them? That wasn't the case at all. All he wanted was a chance to see them, and know they were alive and well. He had no right to expect anything more.

"Françoise and Pierre were put through their paces, trying to make her look like she belonged," Lord Northumberland said with that funny rumbling laugh which seemed to come from deep within him.

"Aye," Sir Walter said, "She could barely walk in that gown. And the poor woman had no shoes to wear!"

Jack felt his face grow hot. How could they speak disparagingly of her? The words made no sense. Pierre and Françoise had been kind to him at the Hart and Crown. They too had disappeared with the Roydons. Jack assumed they'd all stayed together, wherever they were.

"Does Jack still ask about them on the quays?" George asked.

"I expect so," Tom said, "when he's in town. He's a member of the Lord Chamberlain's Men now."

"Surely he's too young!" George exclaimed.

"Nah, we reckon he's fifteen or sixteen," Lord Northumberland said.

Leonard had helped him estimate his age. Jack remembered the defeat of the Armada in 1588 so he'd probably been around five. He didn't know when his birthday was but decided to make it January 28. That was the day Mistress Roydon invited him into their home.

Jack started when he heard a noise behind him. He couldn't let himself be caught eavesdropping. He squared his shoulders, slapped a smile on his face, and entered the hall.

"There you are, Jack!" Lord Northumberland said cheerfully. "Did Wat demand you play with him first?"

"He did his best," Jack said, grateful to use the boy for an excuse as he greeted them.

Tom poured him a goblet of wine. "We were discussing the Lord Chamberlain's Men." He turned to the others. "Jack just finished a stint at The Globe."

"I heard it had opened," George said. "Was this its inaugural run?"

"Aye, we were sold out every day," Jack told him. "One of the plays was Shakespeare's new play _Henry V_. Next week, I'll leave on tour."

George raised his goblet to him. "It's quite a coup to win a spot with that playing company."

His lordship cut in. "You haven't heard him on a viol recently. People call me a wizard, but I'd say young Jack is a wizard on the viol."

Jack's cheeks grew hot at the praise.

"Not so much a wizard, forsooth," said Sir Walter, "as a spell-caster. Perhaps Diana's influence rubbed off on him. Bess could listen to him for hours."

Jack noticed the sharp glance Tom tossed Sir Walter. Was even that reference considered off limits?

"Will Shakespeare's star is rising," said George, breaking the uneasy silence. "Jack should have a bright future with the company."

Like all actors' troupes, the company owned a playwright's scripts. Jack wished they could perform George's plays. His latest comedy, _An Humorous Day's Mirth_, had been a resounding success, but another company, the Lord Admiral's Men, owned the rights. The manager of Jack's company was already negotiating with Shakespeare for new scripts. If Annie hadn't died, she might still be working for Will and they would have been able to see each other much more often.

"When Jack's not otherwise engaged, I hope to persuade him to do more painting for us," Lord Northumberland told the others. "He did a series of murals for us at Syon. Dorothy was much impressed." Turning to Jack, he added, "Next time, you must let me pay you for them."

Flustered, Jack stammered, "How could I possibly charge you anything after all you've done for me?"

"A man's gotta live," George said wryly. "Never turn down a payment. That's my advice to you."

"Who's ready for supper?" asked Lady Bess, leading a train of servants bearing large platters into the hall.

Supper was a merry affair. Jack ate more than he had for a week. He felt like a squirrel packing in food for the lean times on tour. Resources were tight, and he'd already learned there wouldn't be much time for food and relaxation, assuming he could afford it.

As the evening wore on, Lady Bess had him play the viol. Some of the men played chess while discussing Sir Walter's ideas for future expeditions to the Americas. Lady Bess took a lively interest in their discussion. Jack could close his eyes and pretend that he was back at the Hart and Crown, but there was no one there who came close to resembling Master Roydon.

#

"I wish Bryn was still a member of the company," Jack said, nudging his horse closer to Leonard's. "She would have been so much better as Beatrice."

"Aye," Leonard agreed, "and she would have loved the dancing sequences." They'd spent the past three weeks in the countryside west of London, stopping in Salisbury, Bath, and Gloucester for several performances. It was Jack's first time on tour and Leonard was taking advantage of the opportunity to introduce him to some of the towns in southern England. It had been an unusually mild autumn. Only one performance had been held in the rain.

On the final day in Gloucester, they'd performed Shakespeare's new play _Much Ado about Nothing_. Since the playwright had laced the dialogue with puns about music, the musicians had larger roles than normal. He and Jack had even been called upon to dance, although Jack was relegated to portraying a girl. As the youngest member of the troupe, he was often called upon to perform minor female roles.

Jack was now not much shorter than Leonard, but he looked very much like the kid he still was. His straw-blond hair was still as disorderly as that of his dog, and there was a vulnerability to his expression which made him well-suited for female parts . . . if only his voice wouldn't crack so much. Even in choir school, Jack hadn't been good at singing falsetto.

Bryn had moved to Paris two years ago and was performing commedia dell'arte with a local troupe. Women were allowed to act in both France and Italy, but in England there was no sign of the prohibition being lifted. Before she left, she told Jack the truth. He'd been less shocked to learn she was a _wearh t_han to hear that the person he'd assumed to be a boy was actually a girl. Now, Bryn had no need to disguise her appearance.

The troupe would have a couple of months off before the winter season in London began. Rather than returning directly to London, Leonard had plotted a leisurely route. Jack had been talking about visiting Oxford ever since they left London. There wasn't enough time when they set off, but Leonard promised to make up for it on the return trip. Their music instruments were being transported in the company carts so they could travel light.

Leonard reined in his mount at the crossroads. "We'll take the right fork. That goes to Oxford. With luck, we'll be there by nightfall." He looked overhead at the gathering clouds. "A storm's brewing. We best not dally if we hope to arrive before the rain starts."

"Can we take the left fork instead?"

"Why?" Leonard asked, growing uneasy. "That road goes to Woodstock, not Oxford."

Jack worried his lip for a moment. "There's an estate I heard about. Its name is the Old Lodge. I'd like to see it."

Leonard's brain froze at the confirmation to what he'd dreaded. How was he supposed to handle this? More to the point, who'd let the cat out of the bag? The chestnut mare Jack was riding blinked her eyes at Leonard as if to say, "_Do something with him before we all get into trouble_."

Father H had drilled into Leonard's skull in no uncertain terms that Jack was never to go near any place associated with the de Clermonts. He'd specifically mentioned the Old Lodge. Matthew had acquired the property decades ago and had overseen the manor's construction. Matthew was reportedly living in Amsterdam but he could be here on a visit. What would happen if Jack saw him? The man he knew had returned to the future. This Matthew wouldn't know who he was and could care less.

Up to now, Jack had shown no sign of knowing that the man he worshipped was actually Matthew de Clermont—not only a _wearh_ but from one of the ruling families.

Father H said Matthew had a quick temper and was easily provoked to violence. If Jack approached him, pleading for news about Mistress Roydon, Matthew might consider him a lunatic and knife him on the spot. And even if he didn't, Jack would be crushed beyond words to not be recognized.

Then again, maybe Leonard was overreacting. Jack's mare Sienna shook her mane at him. "_Nah, you're not"_ she seemed to say.

"What's so special about Old Lodge?" Leonard asked, attempting to find out how much damage had already been done.

Jack exhaled. "I overheard Lord Northumberland mention it. The Roydons used to live there. It's possible they're staying there now." His brown eyes pleaded at Leonard for understanding. "What harm could it do to just go by the place?"

"I already know the Roydons aren't there," Leonard said, grasping for any excuse no matter how flimsy. "Father H knows _everything_. If they'd returned to England, he would have told you. Besides, we can't simply stop at someone's house without an introduction. Are you positive they lived there? Maybe they were simply visiting."

Jack thought for a moment. "Lord Northumberland said that he along with George, Tom, Sir Walter, and Christopher Marlowe met the Roydons at the Old Lodge."

"So it could have been anyone's house," Leonard interrupted, breathing easier.

"But I know Master Roydon had a country estate somewhere. This could be the place! Can't we at least go by the outside?"

"Likely all we'll be able to see is the gatehouse," Leonard warned.

"I know," Jack muttered, disappointment settling on his face. "Everyone thinks I'm crazy for continuing to believe I'll see them again." He shrugged apologetically. "I understand why they feel that way. I've tried to stop thinking about them, but I can't. Goody Alsop told me not long before she passed that it was because the threads which link me to Mistress Roydon refuse to be severed. Maybe if I see the house and catch a glimpse of others living there, it will be easier to accept." He swiped his forehead with his hand and looked at his palm. The first drops of rain were starting to fall.

Jack looked so miserable, Leonard couldn't deny him his wish. Goody Alsop was yet another loss he'd suffered. For a kid so young, he'd had to say goodbye to far too many people he cared about. Leonard hadn't heard of any of the de Clermonts being in England for years. An empty house could bring some badly needed closure. Jack needed to move forward with his life. Eventually, it would probably happen when he fell in love, but so far Jack had only suffered the pangs of unrequited puppy love.

"I've heard of the Old Lodge," Leonard admitted. "When the company played in Oxford a couple of years ago, we passed by the place on our way to the next town. It looked deserted then," he added quickly before Jack could insist on details. A lie but with good intentions. That meant it didn't really count. "I guess it won't do any harm."

Jack broke into a grin. "Hear that, Sienna? We're going to the Old Lodge!"

Jack nudged his horse into a gallop, but she wouldn't outpace Allegro. The black gelding loved to run. Their time on tour had served as a vacation from his London stable. Allegro stood a couple of hands taller than Sienna, a horse Lord Northumberland let Jack borrow.

But their hope of beating the storm was quickly dashed. The rain began pelting down on them a few minutes later. They had their leather capes for protection, but the black clouds in the distance warned of worse weather ahead. Rather than his spirits being dampened, Jack became even more excited.

"They'll have to give us shelter," he yelled happily over the rain. "Whoever's living there may have stories of the Roydons. I'll race you to the estate."

Sienna appeared anxious to run, probably dreaming of a dry stable ahead, and Allegro was impatient too. "You don't have a chance!" Leonard shouted and urged Allegro on. His steed showed his appreciation, quickly taking the lead.

They galloped along the road with nary another rider in sight. The storm was exhilarating. Allegro flew with the wind.

A sudden bolt of lightning flared in the sky, followed immediately by the deafening crack of thunder. Allegro whinnied in alarm, rearing back. His cries were amplified by Sienna's terrified cry. "Easy, boy," Leonard murmured, stroking Allegro's neck. The rain was growing heavier by the minute. They needed to take shelter, fast. "Hey, Jack! Let's head for that oak tree off to the right." When Jack didn't reply, he swiveled in his saddle.

Sienna was hanging back, riderless. Leonard's heart ricocheted into his throat. Jack must have been thrown when the lightning struck. Dismounting, Leonard sped back on foot. He found Jack collapsed along the side of the road. He'd landed face down on top of a boulder which was serving as a mileage marker. Jack was hanging motionless, balanced on his belly.

Leonard's own stomach knotted at the sight. Lifting the boy off the rock, Leonard laid him down on the ground. He used his cloak to make a tent over himself and Jack. God's Truth, if he hadn't been able to hear Jack's heart beating, he would have thought he was dead. The copper tang of blood was much stronger than normal. His nostrils flared at the pungent smell.

"Jack, can you hear me?"

There was no response. Leonard didn't see any wounds, but the smell indicated Jack was bleeding badly inside. His belly had borne the brunt of the impact. If it had been his head, his skull would likely have split apart. As it was . . . Jack was still growing—all legs and arms with little fat to provide a cushion. Leonard unbuttoned the boy's doublet. There was no blood on his linen shirt, but when Leonard pulled it up, he could see a dark bruise already forming on his lower torso. The decision to take the fork to Woodstock had been cursed.

Jack moaned, and Leonard choked back his despair. "Hey, Jack, open your eyes."

He blinked his eyes and squinted. "L'nard? What . . .?"

"Sienna panicked when the lightning struck. She threw you onto a rock."

"She okay?"

As if to answer him, Sienna moved closer. Her body provided some protection from the storm. "She's fine, but you . . . How do you feel?"

He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of his belly. "Hurts."

"I know. I'm sorry. Can you stand?" Leonard slipped an arm underneath him to help him up, but even that slight movement caused Jack to cry out. He wouldn't be able to ride in his condition, and it was still several miles to the lodge. Jack's eyes were already closing. The storm would likely soon intensify. Leonard had to do something _now_. If he gave Jack a few drops of blood, it would dull the pain, maybe enough to get him on a horse.

Leonard pressed the tip of his index finger against his sharp eye tooth and pricked it. With one hand he forced Jack's mouth open and held it in place while he dripped blood onto his tongue. He could only guess at the correct amount. He wanted to give him enough to dull the pain but not enough to render him unconscious. Jack opened his eyes and gave him a puzzled look, but he didn't fight him.

The effect should be immediate. Trying to keep his voice calm to avoid scaring the kid further, Leonard asked, "How do you feel now?"

"Empty," Jack mumbled.

Leonard stroked a lock of hair out of his eyes. "That's for the best. Weren't you the one telling me you wanted to see the Old Lodge? I'm not going to argue with you." It was the nearest shelter he knew of. If no one was home, he'd break in. To have any chance of surviving, Jack needed someplace dry and warm, a safe haven.

Either from his injury or because of the _wearh_ blood, Jack was already slipping into unconsciousness. "Stay awake a little longer," Leonard pleaded.

He tied Sienna's reins loosely to Allegro's saddle then hoisted Jack in his arms. He could easily carry the kid but lifting him to straddle the horse was a challenge. The saddle was slick from rain and Jack was incapable of help, having gone completely unresponsive. After several botched attempts, in sheer desperation, Leonard balanced Jack face down on the saddle, before springing up behind him. The last thing Jack needed was additional weight on his belly, but he was incapable of feeling it for the moment.

Once he was in the saddle, Leonard was able to position Jack's legs to straddle Allegro. He wrapped one arm around the boy to keep his back resting on his chest.

Now it was Leonard who was pleading for the Old Lodge to be the answer to his prayers.

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! In Chapter 2, the Old Lodge provides some answers as well as a few additional questions._

_Many thanks to the awesome Penna Nomen for volunteering to beta this fic. For background information on the series and an introduction to the world of All Souls Trilogy, see the Six-Crossed Knot page on our blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. Story visuals are on the Six-Crossed Knot board of my Pinterest website: Silbrith's Stories._


	2. Awakening

**Chapter 2: Awakening**

**The Old Lodge, Woodstock.**

"C'mon, Jack, wake up." Leonard swallowed the hardening lump of fear in his throat when Jack didn't respond. "This is the Old Lodge," he added, trying to reduce the note of panic. "You had me bring you here. Don't you want to see it?"

Jack's only response was to slump even more against Leonard. The storm had abated. After the initial downpour, the rain tapered into a gentle sprinkle. But the damage was already done. Jack had been unconscious throughout the ride to the manor, forcing Leonard to hold him in place with one arm while using the other hand to grip the reins for both Allegro and Sienna. Leonard's anxiety must have been conveyed to the horses as they were unusually docile. Even so, they made slow progress.

He hoped Jack's lack of responsiveness was because he'd given the kid too much blood, but more likely Jack's injuries were the cause. If only he knew how severe they were. Was Jack near death? Should Leonard make him a _wearh_? Father H had forbidden him from siring children. He was too young, too inexperienced. Besides, it was ungodly. _Wearhs_ weren't meant to propagate. To do so was blasphemy.

But Father H had also told him to protect Jack. Father H had promised Mistress Roydon to watch over the boy. That left Leonard with few options.

When they finally arrived at the manor, the wrought iron gate was shut. There was a brick gatehouse to the left of the entrance, but no smoke came out of the chimneys. The leaded windows resembled dark empty holes in the brickwork.

Leonard draped Jack over Allegro's neck, holding him firmly in place while he dismounted. When Leonard lifted him off the saddle, he made no sign of recognition.

The iron gate was locked. The brick wall surrounding the property was trivial for Leonard to scale but not while carrying Jack. And what would he do with the horses?

The lodge was too far off to detect any signs of activity. Leonard could leave Jack at the entrance while he checked if anyone was at home. Any _wearhs_ inside the manor had probably already smelled them. If they were from the Roydon household, they might recognize his and Jack's scents, but what were the odds any were present? If unknown _wearhs _were living inside, they'd likely kill them both as trespassers. Leonard's mind spun hopelessly in circles.

The wind was blowing from his back, but he caught the whiff just as the _wearh_ approached the gate. In a flash, Gallowglass stood in front of him.

Leonard gasped with relief. The big Gael had never been particularly friendly to him, but Jack thought highly of him. He was Matthew's nephew. Surely he'd help.

"What happened to Jackie?" Gallowglass demanded, his nostrils flaring as he looked at the boy.

"He was thrown from his horse during the thunderstorm. He's badly injured. We weren't far away. This was the only place I could think of to come," Leonard said, the excuses pouring out of his mouth in quick succession. Father H had drilled orders into him that Jack wasn't to know about the Old Lodge, but he'd never gone into the details. From the little he'd said of Matthew, Leonard knew the priest didn't trust him. Did he feel the same way about Gallowglass? Was this a huge mistake? What choice did he have?

The Gael frowned then took out a key from the pouch on his belt to unlock the gate. "You best give the laddie to me. I'll take him to the house. Those horses need tending. After you're finished in the stable, join us."

He slipped his burly arms under Jack and lifted him up. Leonard exhaled with relief, exhaustion mingled with fear penetrating his every bone. He had to trust Gallowglass, but would he decide the kindest thing was to put Jack down? What would Leonard do then?

#

By the time Leonard had groomed and fed the horses, the rain had completely stopped as if to mock him. Had the storm been God's punishment for making the wrong decision? Jack's life was at stake. Leonard couldn't mess up again.

When he neared the half-timbered manor, it was quiet with only a few windows illuminated from within to indicate there were occupants. The entrance opened into a great hall. A fire was lit in the massive fireplace but there was no sign of Jack or anyone else. The welcoming scents of lavender and rushes which were strewn on the wood plank floors indicated someone was tending the place.

Leonard let his nose guide him. He found Jack in the cavernous kitchen. He was stretched out on a pile of blankets in front of the hearth with another blanket on top of him. Gallowglass was pouring water into a copper tub. A woman knelt next to Jack. Leonard recognized Françoise, although they'd barely spoken two words. He knew the _wearh_ was a French servant who'd accompanied Matthew from his home in Auvergne. Did that mean Matthew was in England as well? Would the disasters never end?

"How is he?" Leonard asked, crouching beside her. Jack's shirt had been stripped off. He was lying motionless, his eyes closed and his face pale as death itself. Françoise was placing sprigs of dried rosemary and feverfew around his neck.

She spared him a brief glance, the grimness of her expression more eloquent than any words she could utter. "You already know he's bleeding inside." She lifted a corner of the blanket so Leonard could see his belly. The bruises were nearly black.

"Feel his skin," she ordered.

His belly was so taut and swollen, it was if his skin would rip apart. Leonard had never felt anything like it. He grasped Jack's hand, willing him to live.

"He hovers between life and death," she said quietly. "With that amount of bleeding, the kindest act we can perform may be to end his suffering."

Leonard choked back a sob. This couldn't be happening. Jack couldn't die, not like this. "You can make him a _wearh_."

Françoise shook her head. "That's no solution."

"Neither is killing him." Leonard turned to Gallowglass. "You understand. You were there. Mistress Roydon would want us to do everything we can to save him."

The Gael swiped a hand over his face. "Françoise is right. Jack's too young to be reborn. You were several years older when you became a _wearh_. Do you remember how difficult the transition was for you?"

Leonard nodded reluctantly. The inadvertent pain he'd caused, his awkwardness, his lack of control. He'd been a mess for over a century. Father H said he still was.

"There is a technique we can try," Françoise said. "Jack is strong. If his body is given a chance, it may recover on its own. But we'll need to keep him alive—with our blood—until that happens. The amount will be more than what is normally considered safe. If we give him too much, it will kill him."

_Wearh_ blood would cause Jack's wounds to heal faster, but wouldn't his own blood fight it and cause new issues? Father H had lectured Leonard on the harmful effects of their blood. When a person was reborn, their own blood was first removed. Leonard had never heard of warmbloods tolerating more than a few drops.

Françoise turned to Gallowglass. "Will you be able to stay? It could take weeks."

He nodded. "Count me in." He glanced at Leonard. "You were lucky we were still here. We'd planned to leave in a few days."

"I can help too," Leonard offered.

She eyed him doubtfully. "Precise timing will be necessary. How skilled are you at controlling your blood flow?"

When Leonard hesitated, Gallowglass spoke up. "It's no embarrassment to be honest about your ability, Lenny. Jack's life depends on it. You best let us handle it. But don't worry, we'll put you to good use."

Françoise pricked her finger with her eyetooth and inserted it into Jack's mouth. Her face froze into a look of intense concentration. Leonard suspected she was counting Jack's heartbeats and timing the drops to them.

Gallowglass gave Leonard a goblet of blood mixed with wine. "After you've rested, you can hunt with me." He nodded toward the doorway. "We shouldn't disturb Françoise."

Gallowglass showed him around the manor but Leonard didn't pay much attention to the tapestries or fine furnishings. He hesitated over how much to tell Gallowglass about Jack. _Wearhs_ kept their knowledge to themselves and rarely discussed others, but the Gael needed to understand the boy's situation.

"Jack doesn't know about you or Françoise," Leonard said, pausing at the entrance to a bedchamber Gallowglass said he could use.

"Does he know _wearhs _exist?" Gallowglass asked, catching the implied message.

"Aye, but not much else. The only ones he's aware of are me, Amen, Bryn, and Father H. We haven't told him about Matthew." Leonard noticed Gallowglass's eyes narrow at the mention of the priest's name.

"I've kept up a little with the laddie," Gallowglass volunteered. "Occasionally I've spoken with Lord Northumberland, but he made no mention of Jack associating with Hubbard."

"Mistress Roydon asked him to extend his protection to the boy."

The Gael didn't say anything but shot him a sharp look. Leonard hastened to clarify. "Jack isn't aware of Father H's status in London. After Annie died from the plague, I told him we were _wearhs_ so he wouldn't worry so much about us, but he doesn't understand how we're born or how we feed."

Gallowglass nodded slowly. "You did the right thing to not tell him. The less he knows, the better." He clapped Leonard's shoulder. "Jack's a survivor. I wager he'll come through this, too."

#

Jack was floating, adrift in a dream world. He could no longer feel his limbs. They seemed to have disappeared.

The last thing he remembered with certainty was the thunderstorm—Sienna's terrified whinny. After that, there were only snatches—agonizing pain, Leonard's anxious face looking down on him, the meaningless mumble of voices. Leonard had dripped blood into Jack's mouth. It reminded Jack of someone else from a long time ago. He couldn't remember who.

Once in a while, he dreamed that he opened his eyes to find himself in a kitchen. A fire was always lit in the brick hearth. His belly was on fire too, but the ache seemed distant, like it belonged to someone else.

Shadowy images moved around him. Faces from the Hart and Crown. Françoise. He smiled at the thought. She used to give him currant buns for Mistress Roydon's firedrake, Corra. Gallowglass sometimes floated above him. It had been so long since he'd seen him, but he looked just the same. His arms covered in tattoos. With his beard and shaggy blond mane of hair, the Gael reminded him of a lion. Master Roydon was there, too. He'd told Jack when he dreamed of those he cared about, they'd be closer. He was right. They were all dripping blood into him. The drops felt like chips of ice in his mouth.

"Why are they giving me blood?" he asked Mistress Roydon. "You don't."

"You know the answer," she said.

"I do?"

She kissed his forehead. "It will come to you."

"When will I see you again?"

Her face faded before she could answer and he cried out to her. Françoise floated overheard. She wiped his forehead with a damp cloth. Her hand was blissfully cool when she stroked his cheeks. Relief for the fire in his belly. He sank deeper into his dreams as a finger slipped into his mouth.

Drip . . . Drip . . .

Voices entered his sleep once more. He recognized Gallowglass and Françoise. Why weren't the Roydons there? Jack tried to conjure them up, but his mind refused to let them enter. Corra clacked her tongue at him from the mantle over the hearth. The firedrake wished the mistress was here too. Water was swishing somewhere. Slaps of something soft. The sounds Françoise made when she washed clothes.

"The laddie improves," Gallowglass said. "When you mentioned the technique, I confess I didn't see how it would work."

"Marthe instructed me, but Jack is the first one I've tried it on," Françoise explained.

Jack relaxed to the sound of her French accent. He wondered vaguely if Pierre was around. "Marthe has performed it successfully on only one person," Françoise added. "She thought there had to be something special about the blood, but she couldn't determine what it was. I'm sorry she won't know about our results, but it wouldn't be right to tell her. Philippe wouldn't approve."

Gallowglass snorted. "Marthe doesn't answer to Philippe, only Ysabeau. Still, we're lucky Philippe already left. He's a stickler for creatures keeping out of the affairs of warmbloods."

She sniffed. "When it suits him. He's had his finger on the pulse of monarchs for centuries."

"Aye, but this is different. Our orders were to not let anyone from the Roydons' life in London come into contact with Matthew. A casual word, a slip of the tongue could have devastating consequences."

What was he talking about? Matthew was a Roydon. He already knew. Jack was too sleepy to puzzle it out. Dreams were weird. They often didn't make any sense.

"I'm glad you took me to Gloucester," Françoise said. "Seeing Jack perform in _Much Ado About Nothing_ is something I'll treasure. Who would think that starving waif would turn into such a gifted musician?"

Gallowglass let out a bubbling rumble of a laugh. "Aye, and he wasn't a bad lass, either."

"We should remember to tell Diana. She'd like to know." A rustling of skirts. "It's time for another treatment."

"You're up to your elbows in suds. I'll handle it." A chair scraped. The sounds of boots. This was a longer dream than most. Strong cold fingers stroked his forehead, smoothing back his hair. "The fever's still down. Nothing like good _wearh_ blood to cure what ails you, laddie," he added in a low voice.

Jack felt a large calloused finger pry open his lips and slip inside. Drip . . . Drip . . .

The soft murmur of a French song entered his thoughts. Something about wine. It made him want to sing along. Jack opened his eyes to another dream. Françoise was standing at the table, chopping an onion. The strong aroma made him nauseous. "Françoise?" His voice was a barely audible whisper. It felt like he hadn't used it in months.

She started and gazed over at him, a smile breaking out. "It's about time, _mon brave_." In an instant, she was crouched beside him. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know. Am I dreaming?" He was lying on blankets in front of the fire in a kitchen as large as Lord Northumberland's in Petworth. He reached out to touch her. Her skin felt real, but his hand began to shake and he let it fall back to the blanket.

She clasped his fingers. Her hand was icy but the grip was solid. "This is not a dream. You're at the Old Lodge where Leonard brought you. You have been very ill, but you are feeling better now, _non_?"

A door opened. "Hey, Françoise, where do you want the eggs?"

When Gallowglass walked in, Jack's joy knew no bounds. All he could do was smile. His dream was materializing in front of his eyes.

"Look who's awake," Françoise said.

The big Gael dropped down beside him. "Welcome back to the living, Jackie!"

"Prop him up," Françoise ordered. "While he's awake, he needs to drink."

"I've had enough sleep," Jack protested. His voice was so weak he doubted they heard him. If he closed his eyes, would they vanish? He had to stay awake till he saw who else was there. He tried to raise himself but his arms promptly collapsed underneath him.

It didn't matter though. Gallowglass squatted behind him, lifting Jack's torso to rest against his propped up legs.

"I've missed you." Jack wanted to say more but his emotions choked his words. He was perilously close to blubbering like a baby.

"And I you," Gallowglass said quietly.

"Drink this," Françoise ordered, holding a tankard to his lips. "But not too quickly."

Jack cautiously took a glug. It was some thick warm liquid and soothed his parched throat. "What is it?" he croaked.

"Chicken broth and egg. You've been living on it for the past fortnight."

"Your belly was injured," Gallowglass added. "You'll need to wait a while longer for solid food. Then your strength will come back quickly enough."

Jack leaned back against his legs. "Who else is here?"

"Leonard left to return your horse," she said, "but he should be back in a couple of days. He's bringing a cart to take you home."

Jack swallowed down another mouthful of soup. "Anyone else?" He couldn't give up hope, not yet.

Françoise's brow puckered. "Are you thinking of Pierre? He's not here."

"Master and Mistress Roydon?" He scanned Françoise's face. She didn't need to answer. Her stern features dissolved into the sympathy normally shown upon the death of a relative.

"I'm sorry, Jackie," Gallowglass rumbled quietly.

He nodded, unable to swallow down the grief blocking his throat. Françoise urged him to drink more, but he couldn't. Sleep called to him. He should be grateful for those he'd found. The Roydons would have to remain in his dreams.

#

Gradually Jack was able to stay awake for longer periods of time. Françoise or Gallowglass was always there, refilling his tankard with soup. He was growing to hate the taste but it was the only food his stomach could tolerate.

It was embarrassing to be so helpless, but they helped to ease the discomfort by making a joke of it. They refused to talk about their own lives, instead plying him with questions about what he'd been doing for the past eight years.

Bit by bit he assembled the shattered fragments of his memory into a cohesive picture of what had happened. The conclusion was inescapable. He longed for confirmation but feared his questions would inevitably be disregarded like they'd been since his childhood. One afternoon, when Gallowglass was alone with him, Jack figured it was the best chance he'd get. The big Gael was whittling more rune disks at the kitchen table. He had a tankard of ale beside him and looked like he might be more responsive.

"Is Pierre also a _wearh_?" Jack asked.

That caused Gallowglass to look up sharply from his whittling.

"Aye, laddie. So you know about us."

"I've known about Leonard and Father H for a while. And I realize I've lost a lot of weight, but the way Françoise can sling me around as if I were still eight years old?" He chuckled to conceal his tension. "It was pretty obvious."

Gallowglass smiled but didn't comment.

"And then there's the blood . . . " Gallowglass locked his gaze on him. "Leonard, you, Françoise—you all gave me your blood. Thanks to you, I'm alive."

"We were glad we could help. You should give yourself some credit too. Not many would have survived."

Jack's throat clenched on him. He already knew the answer. Why was he even asking it? Was it simply because he longed to hear his name again? "I remember Master Roydon gave me blood to heal my injuries after my former master, Stidolph, beat me. Master Roydon made the pain go away. At the time, I thought he might be a witch, but I know better now."

"Does it bother you?"

"Nah, if anything, I'm envious. I keep hoping he and the mistress will make a return trip to England. Do you think there's any chance that will ever happen?"

Gallowglass put down his knife and stroked his beard without answering. He placed several runes in the pouch, shook the pouch for a moment then emptied the runes onto the table. Jack had never learned how to read runes. He knew Gallowglass used them as an aid to determine the right course of action.

The Gael stood up and came over to Jack's nest of blankets on the floor, sitting cross-legged next to him. "What do you know about their departure?"

"Goody Alsop told me Mistress Roydon timewalked with the master into the future, hundreds of years from now. When I asked her if I'd ever see them again, she wouldn't answer."

"Based on my understanding, it's impossible for them to make a return trip. So, in answer to your question, I'm sorry, but you'll need to hold onto those memories of Auntie. She's not coming back."

Gallowglass was confirming what part of him had already known but the other half refused to acknowledge.

"For Matthew, the situation's more complicated."

Jack stared at him, transfixed. Was there hope?

"You know _wearhs_ live a long time, right?"

"Aye, Leonard explained it to me."

"Good. So it won't surprise you that Matthew was born long ago. He met Diana in our future, hundreds of years from now. Then they traveled back to our time." Gallowglass's eyes were boring into him, willing him to understand. "When Matthew returned to the present, his Elizabethan self reemerged. In a sense, Matthew never left. He's still here."

Jack's heart threatened to leap out of his chest. He'd have a chance to see him again.

Gallowglass gripped his shoulder as if to keep him from flying away. "But the Matthew who exists now doesn't know what will happen in the future and he has no memory of the months the future Matthew was here. Laddie, he doesn't know who you are. He's unmarried. He won't meet Diana for hundreds of years."

Jack's heart plummeted. He'd gotten it backward. Master Roydon was still here, but Jack was the one who didn't exist, at least not to him.

"And we can't tell him about any of the events which occurred," Gallowglass continued relentlessly. "If we did, the future could be changed irrevocably. Matthew could die. He might never meet Diana. Her fate could be altered as well. We can't let that happen. All of us swore an oath to not betray the confidence the Roydons placed in us."

"All of you . . . That means Lord Northumberland and Tom?"

"Aye, and Sir Walter and George. But you were so young, we figured you wouldn't understand. Our hope was that the memories would fade and you'd forget."

"That will never happen."

"I've come to realize that," Gallowglass said, his voice softening. "That's why I decided to entrust you with the secret. Matthew doesn't live in England, but someday it's conceivable he'll travel here. If you ever see him, you must promise to treat him as a stranger. Do not approach him. It's your way to ensure he and Auntie will have a future. Do you understand?"

"I won't let them down," Jack said. He'd always known his status in life was far below theirs. But now he realized the impossible chasm that separated them. The fact that Master Roydon was a _wearh_ made it easier to accept. Jack wasn't a creature. He was a nobody in Master Roydon's eyes. For a few months, he'd gotten to pretend he was something he wasn't. He'd been granted access into a world where he didn't belong.

"You must never talk about her or Matthew." Gallowglass continued to hammer home the prohibitions. There could be no mention of that manuscript Jack and Gallowglass helped steal for Mistress Roydon in Prague. Jack knew she'd brought it home to London, but he hadn't heard what became of it. He knew it was valuable. He assumed she'd taken it with her. For some reason, Gallowglass thought others might ask about it. Yet something else that he must forget he'd ever known about.

"It's not all bad, laddie." Gallowglass took the tankard from him which was in danger of falling out of his hands. "You still have Lobero as a reminder of Prague. Lenny and Tom care for you as does Lord Northumberland. You're under Hubbard's protection. You have employment you can be proud of."

Jack dug his hands into the blanket, wishing it were Mop's shaggy fur. Despite the Gael's reassurance, his world had suddenly grown empty.

#

When he woke to the sound of barking, Jack was convinced he was dreaming again. But a wet tongue and frantic tail slaps quickly informed him this was no dream. "Mop!"

"It's about time you woke up," Leonard said, a wide smile on his face as he dropped to his knees beside Jack. I didn't drive a cart all the way from Syon with this overgrown bear of a dog just to watch you sleep."

"When did you get here?" Jack asked, rubbing his eyes. Mop laid his head on Jack's belly, making him wince, and he gently shoved him higher on his chest. It was a reminder he wasn't ready for roughhousing.

Françoise put her hands on her hips. "Lobero! Sit quietly or you'll be banished from the kitchen."

Mop cocked his head and whined at the woman he hadn't seen for eight years. She'd ordered him about at the Hart and Crown, and he appeared to understand that she still had to be obeyed.

"Leonard arrived an hour ago," Françoise added, bringing him yet another tankard of chicken soup.

Leonard was luckier. She gave him wine to drink and Mop was soon supplied with meaty bones. Leonard regaled both of them with news from the acting troupe. Jack had only a few weeks to heal before they were scheduled to perform in London. Shakespeare had finished a new play called _Hamlet_ which they'd include in their repertoire for the upcoming season.

Leonard had also heard from Bryn. She was planning to visit in January and hoped to sneak into Hampton Court Palace to watch a performance. While Françoise clucked her tongue in disapproval, Leonard related some of the disguises she'd used to sneak into places in the past.

Jack's life, like an old friend who'd been neglected for too long, was calling to him once more. Tom had a new optics project that he was eager to tell him about but Françoise insisted that Jack wait till he was on solid food before leaving.

Fortunately, Leonard had brought drawing supplies with him. Over the next few days, Jack sketched Françoise and Gallowglass. He also drew pictures of the Roydons. He was honored when Françoise asked if she could have them. After that, he made more for her—of Tom, Lord Northumberland, Sir Walter and Lady Bess, George, Mop, even his horse Sienna.

Leonard took him on walks around the lodge as his strength slowly returned. No one discussed the place's history. Jack assumed it belonged to Master Roydon and that was why it was yet another forbidden subject. For once, he didn't pry. Instead he drew interior views, placing Master Roydon in front of the linenfold paneling. His friends said it was here they met Mistress Roydon. Jack imagined what the scene would have looked like.

On a frosty morning in early December, it was time to say goodbye. They went outside to the cart together. His friends brushed aside his attempts to thank them. Eight years ago, he didn't have the chance to bid them farewell since by the time he knew the Roydons were leaving, Gallowglass and Françoise were already at the Old Lodge. Now Jack knew that he would most likely never see them again.

"Mind you, stick to the foods on your list," Françoise said, giving him one final lecture.

Jack patted his pocket. "I have all your instructions here." Françoise had let him eat some solid food for the past few days, mainly chicken and cooked vegetables. After the constant soup, they seemed like a feast.

"Don't rush expanding the choices. I didn't spend all this time on you to have you get sick again."

"I promise." He hesitated over how to adequately express his gratitude. "Mistress Roydon saved me that day she rescued me on the streets. Now, you've given me another chance at life. I don't know how I can—"

"Just take of yourself, Jackie," Gallowglass said gruffly. "That's the best payment you can give us."

"Someday, you two may see Mistress Roydon, right?"

They exchanged quick glances. "We hope to," Gallowglass said, eyeing him warily.

"I don't think I ever thanked her and Master Roydon for all they did. Could you tell them for me?"

"Aye, and not only that," he said, clasping his shoulder. "I'll tell them what a success you've made of your life. They'll be very proud of you."

The Gael helped him settle into the cart. Leonard covered him in blankets. Mop was pumping out additional heat. Jack waved farewell as they passed through the gate. A chapter in his life was over.

Jack didn't attempt to speak as Leonard rambled nonstop about how they'd explore Hampton Court with Bryn and joked about the forbidden areas they'd sneak into. Gradually, his sadness faded. The new year would mark the start of a new century with fresh opportunities and adventures. And he'd always have the Roydons in his dreams where they'd stay safe.

#

Françoise waited till the cart was out of sight before turning to Gallowglass. "You were right to let him know about Matthew."

"For both of them, it's for the best. Jackie has closure now. He'll stop asking about Auntie and Matthew on the docks."

Françoise nodded. Comte Philippe had given them strict orders to bury all information about the Roydons' time in London. If the _comte_ had been present when Leonard brought Jack to the Old Lodge, Françoise knew what he would have ordered. The boy was dying. Better to let nature take its course than to risk leaking any information about the Roydons.

She was glad Gallowglass hadn't objected. She'd always approved of his independent streak even when it got him into trouble. The _comte _would never know about Jack. The boy deserved a chance to live, and she knew that was what Diana would have wanted.

It was, in a very real sense, a miracle that the procedure had worked. Was there something special about Jack? Some trace of Diana or Matthew which helped him tolerate _wearh_ blood? It would remain a mystery.

* * *

_Notes: Jack believes he will no longer see anyone connected to the Roydons, but we know better. In my next story, I jump ahead to a pivotal year in Jack's life—1603. The title of the story is Walking Shadows and I plan to post it in January 2020._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation._

_ See the Six-Crossed Knot page for background information on the series and an introduction to the world of All Souls Trilogy._

__Story visuals are on the Six-Crossed Knot board of my Pinterest website: Silbrith's Stories__


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